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    And Then Came Murder
    And Then Came Murder
    And Then Came Murder
    Ebook260 pages4 hours

    And Then Came Murder

    By Mike Poppe

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    Sgt. Ryan McDonnell and Cpl Tim Harding fought together in Vietnam. Harding saved McDonnell's life there, forging a lifetime friendship.
    Twenty years later, Lieutenant McDonnell, now the homicide commander on the St. Louis police force, is notified that his best friend has been murdered in the town of Judas Falls, Wyoming, by a unknown assailant.
    McDonnell flies to Wyoming, determined to find the killer and bring him to justice. What he finds is a town leadership more interested in getting him back on a plane out of town, then they are in finding Tim Harding's killer.
    Five years before, McDonnell lost the love of his life, a woman named Monique to a murderer. Now, as he searches for answers to his friend's murder, attempts are made on his own life.
    His one ally is Police Officer Carrie Chambers, a cop with both integrity and beauty. Together, ignoring the pressures from above,they dig and prod in their search to find the murderer.
    Along the way, Chambers and McDonnell develop a personal bond as they cover each other's backs. In a short amount of time, it's clear to both of them that their feelings have gone beyond professional.
    Who killed Tim Harding, and why?
    Who is behind the reluctance of the town leadership to solve this killing, and why?
    Will Carrie Chambers finally heal the pain in McDonnell's heart over the murder of Monique?
    Will Carrie be the one to finally bring him the happiness that has eluded him for so long?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMike Poppe
    Release dateMar 12, 2013
    ISBN9781301848263
    And Then Came Murder
    Author

    Mike Poppe

    I was born in Rector, Arkansas, a small farming based town in Northeast Arkansas. Later, my parents moved to St. Louis in search of better economic opportunity. At age 16, disallusioned and bored with the “One Size Fits All” educational system, I dropped out in the 10th grade.Just as soon as I turned 17, I joined the Marine Corps. The education the Corps provided, wasn't always polite and pleasant, but it most certainly was not boring. My four year enlistment included one year in South Vietnam. 7 November, 1965 to 6 November, 1966. At the end of my enlistment, having attained the rank of Sgt E-5, I returned to civilian life.After nine months as an Industrial Engineering Clerk, I took advantage of an opportunity to move into transportation. For the next 34 years, I was a dispatcher and driver supervisor in the Trucking Industry.In 2011, the rise in popularity of E-books caught my attention. A life long avid reader, I'd always believed I could write a book, but didn't know how to go about getting it published. The birth of E-Books changed all that. In the fall of 2011, fulfilling a life long dream, I published my first book, The Sparrows Whisper.Today, my wife, Mary Katherine, and I, live in a small rural town in Southwestern Illinois. With the encouragement of family and friends, I've published a total of 13 novels. The split between my books has been divided pretty evenly between Mysteries and Westerns. Work on number 14, is under way.For all those that have taken the time to read my books, I appreciate your interest very much.

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      Book preview

      And Then Came Murder - Mike Poppe

      And Then Came Murder

      Written, and Cover Illustration,

      by Mike Poppe

      Copyright Mike Poppe 2013

      Smashwords Edition

      This novel is a work of fiction, and none of the characters are intended to represent anyone living or dead.

      Prologue

      Benny Marko's preferred weapon of choice for murder, was a pump shotgun. He had a little secluded place on a hill near Collinsville, Illinois, not far across the river from St. Louis.

      One morning, just as he did every morning, Benny came out in his housecoat to pick up the newspaper off his lawn. Just as he bent over and grabbed the paper, he heard his name being called. Looking up, Marko found himself staring into the barrel of a shotgun, not unlike his own.

      She never hurt anybody Benny. She didn't deserve to die.

      A blast from the shotgun wrecked his left knee. As he fell to the ground screaming, another blast tore apart his right knee. Benny got to endure a few seconds of intense pain before a third blast blew away his face. The newspaper lay beside his body, still unopened.

      Table of Contents

      Prologue

      Danang

      The Call

      Monique

      Chief Odin

      Amanda

      Ben Riley

      Carrie

      The Funeral

      The Warning

      Carrie's Reaction

      Assault

      The Librarian

      Less Is More

      The Cabin

      Gone Fishing

      A New Trust

      Lory

      The Bomb

      State Trooper

      The Storm

      The Ride

      Surprise

      Showdown

      Out of The Fog

      Healing

      Decision

      1. 7 September, 1966.

      Somewhere in the vicinity of Danang,

      Republic of South Vietnam.

      I was 'short'.

      In Vietnam, you got 'short' when you had less than one hundred days left in your tour of duty. With only sixty days to do, I was so short that I needed a ladder to climb over a blade of grass. I was too 'short' to pay attention.

      Two things happen when you get 'short'.

      1. You warn everybody you come in contact with, that you don't have time for a conversation of more than three words.

      2. You start getting nervous. After making it this far, nobody wants to get killed when they are short. You may have previously been someone that volunteered for extra hazardous assignments, but that crap stops when you get 'short'. You paid your dues and took your chances. Let somebody else have their turn now.

      That's why I erupted with a blistering stream of profanity, when Pfc. Donovan brought the news that Lieutenant Geiger wanted to see me. Lieutenant Geiger had a hundred and five days to do. He didn't give a damn about anybody 'being short'.

      When I reported to the Lieutenant in his tent, the look on his face, was all I needed to verify that my suspicions were correct. Some pissant in headquarters, probably fresh from the world, and still wearing state side starched utilities, had woke up this very morning with only one thing on his mind. To figure out a way to get Sergeant Ryan Donovan McDonnell killed. The rear echelon son of a bitch probably had over three hundred days to do, and didn't even know about 'being short'.

      The Lieutenant leaned back in his chair, and smiled. It was an evil smile. The kind of smile that officers give when they are getting ready to crap all over your day.

      Sgt. McDonnell, get your guys ready to go out tonight. Headquarters has a mission for us to handle. We will be taking a South Vietnamese interpreter, by the name of Dinh, along on this one.

      Lieutenant, I ....

      Stopping me before I could get started, Lt. Geiger responded.

      "Yeah, I know. You are fixing to tell me that you are so 'short' that you don't have time for a cup of coffee, much less to go on a mission. How many days do I have left Sergeant?

      One Oh Five and a wake up, sir.

      Exactly. Since I'm not yet 'short', in my little corner of this war, then nobody else is allowed to be. Understood?

      Yes sir, but what I wanted to say, is that it's my job to get these guys back in one piece if it can be done. That means speaking my mind when I think the orders are probably going to get some Marines killed for no good reason.

      The Lieutenant leaned forward. I'm listening.

      Lieutenant, you know me, I take assignments as they come without belly aching. However, if we have to take along a Vietnamese, I'd like to request that we trade this Dinh for one that we have worked with before. My experience has been that it's a crap shoot with these untested Vietnamese troops. Half the time they are on our side, the other half, they are V.C. How do we know this guy isn't going to lead us right into an ambush? Taking along this Dinh, a guy we know absolutely nothing about, is a bad deal."

      Lieutenant Geiger nodded and motioned for me to have a seat.

      Look Mac, you know about the ambushes that have been taking place recently in sector 214 right?

      Yes sir.

      Well, headquarters says that this Dinh has a couple of cousins that have been forced to go with the V.C. group that has been staging these ambushes. Dinh says that he can lead us to them. The only thing he asks, is that we allow him to go in and talk to his cousins, so they can sneak away before we hit the camp. If he's being straight with us, it will end up saving a lot of Marine lives.

      After lighting a cigarette, I took a draw, then gave my considered opinion.

      Yes sir. I can see that. However, I have this feeling in the back of my neck, that this is a bad deal. I think this is going to blow up in our faces.

      The Lieutenant reached out and took my pack of cigarettes, pulled out a camel and lit up. Off the record Mac, I don't like it either. I pushed it as far as I could go, and got my ass burned by the Captain because of it. He dropped his cigarette into the ashtray on his foot locker, and stood up.

      Sgt. McDonnell, you will have your men ready for patrol and will give full cooperation to our Vietnamese ally. Is that clear?

      I wanted to say a lot of things, because my every instinct told me that business over at graves registration was going to pick up tomorrow. That said, the Marine Corps is not a debating society. I had my orders.

      Aye Aye Sir!, I replied, then turned to leave. After taking no more than two steps, I came to a halt and turned back to face the Lieutenant.

      Lieutenant?

      He looked up. Yes, what is it Sergeant.

      Sixty and a wake up sir.

      The Lieutenant threw the duty roster clipboard at me, and I took off with a smile on my face. After all, I was too short to give a shit.

      As I went from tent to tent, checking to be sure the guys were prepared, the routine was pretty much the same as it was before any patrol. The conversation among the boys was loud, and class A profanity was the official language of choice.

      When the cussing and bitching began to die down, some of them would write letters back home. Letters that were to be mailed in the event they didn't return. When finished, the letters would be dropped into one of the empty ammo boxes we kept in each tent, just for that purpose. Those that returned safe and sound, would retrieve their letter, and destroy it. It was said to be bad luck to use the same letter for more than one mission.

      After going over the map several times to be sure I had it down cold, I told Corporal Harding to wake me in an hour, then stretched out to take a nap. In exactly one hour, I heard Harding's voice. Sarge, you awake?

      Yeah I am. Thanks Tim.

      Since arriving in country about a month after me, Harding had become my right arm. He had demonstrated an ability to get things done. He was a tough fighter, and had proven to be someone that I could have complete confidence in when I had need of a trustworthy opinion.

      As he turned to leave my tent, I called Tim back. "Wait. Come here for a second. Here's the kicker on tonight's mission. We are ordered to take along a Vietnamese interpreter named Dinh. Headquarters says he's going to help us. Maybe so, but until he has proven otherwise, you and I are going to assume that this pajama wearing son of a bitch is Viet Cong.

      Tell Douglas to take over your duties. Your responsibility tonight, is to keep this Dinh in your sight picture at all times. The first sign that this asshole looks suspicious, I want to hear about before it happens. If he tries to slip off, you are to make sure that he gets a little bit dead. Are we clear?"

      Loud and clear.

      Good. By the way, I want two extra grenades and two extra magazines per man tonight. I'll bet you next month's beer ration that this is going to turn into a genuine clusterfuck.

      Harding grimaced. I'm not taking that bet. He stood quietly for a few seconds, then looked at me seriously. Sarge, I know you don't normally write a letter like most of the guys, but it might not be a bad idea this time, because in my considered opinion, this stinking patrol is 'Numba Ten'.

      As troops have done in every war, we had picked up certain phrases from the local people. To the Vietnamese, when something was good, it was 'Numba One'. When something was bad, it was 'Numba Ten'.

      Tim was right. This stinking patrol was 'Numba Ten', and I did write that letter.

      Just before the sun went down, the choppers dropped us off on the western side of the area commonly referred to as Happy Valley. According to our interpreter, the V.C. camp was supposed to be about three clicks to the north.

      I haven't been everywhere, but it's my considered opinion that nowhere in the world, does night turn as dark as it does in Vietnam. It was very slow going as we moved down the trail like a platoon of blind men.

      Not only were we hampered by the inability to see, but this close to a suspected V.C. camp, we had to be extra vigilant for booby traps. Thanks to some blind luck, along with the razor sharp instincts of our point men, we spotted two of them. We chose to circle around rather than trying to disarm them in the dark.

      No more than three hundred yards away from the suspected V.C. camp, Lieutenant Gieger halted the patrol. Just as I turned to speak to Dinh, I heard Tim's Harding's voice.

      Sarge, he's gone! The son of a bitch is gone!

      Everybody in the patrol immediately began trying to spot movement in the cover around us.

      Damn it Tim, I growled softly. Didn't I tell you to watch him?

      What the hell did you expect me to do? One minute the bastard is right beside me, then I blink, and he's gone.

      Before I could tell him to forget it, the night exploded in gunfire from the right side of the trail. The Lieutenant was hit almost immediately and fell at my feet. He had taken a round in the neck and one in the face. Lieutenant Geiger would never get below 'One Oh Five and a wake up'. He was going back to camp in a body bag.

      When I heard someone call for a Corpsman, I told Tim to go back and check to check out the wounded situation. He couldn't have taken three steps before I got hit, and fell to the ground alongside the Lieutenant. I had been hit twice. Once in the shoulder, once in my side.

      When I looked up, I saw Dinh no more than ten feet away preparing to finish me off. My weapon was on the ground and out of immediate reach. Then I saw Dinh's face explode when two rounds from Tim's M-14, blew it apart. Our friendly Viet Cong interpreter flopped to the ground, in the way that only dead men do.

      Dinh had succeeded in getting us ambushed, but Tim Harding had made him pay by sending him to hell.

      Meanwhile, we were still taking heavy fire, and we had wounded that needed treatment and evacuation.

      Fortunately, the Lieutenant and I had talked before we left the compound. When I told him that Harding shared the same concerns that we had, he decided to go to the Captain and request another platoon to shadow us. Because of that, Lieutenant English's platoon had followed us down the trail. When the firing broke out, they moved off the trail and flanked the V.C., putting them in a vicious cross fire. In just a few minutes, the few Viet Cong that weren't dead, had disappeared into the dark of night.

      Both rounds from Dinh's rifle had entered and exited my body without any apparent serious damage. The Corpsman sprinkled some sulfa powder on the wounds, applied bandages, and tapped my helmet. No sweat Sarge. You'll live long enough to get to get shot again. You just better hope I'm around when it happens.

      As he helped me to my feet, I grinned thru clenched teeth. Thanks Doc. Send my bill to Ho Chi Minh.

      He grinned, and said, Will do.

      As he headed to check on someone else, I called out to him.

      Hey Doc, Fifty nine and a wake up!

      **********

      Two months later, my tour was over, done, finished, and completed. Tim drove me to the airbase at Danang. He carried my seabag from the jeep to the departure gate. Five hundred yards on the other side of that gate sat the plane that would take me back to the world in a little while.

      As we shook hands, Tim smiled. You're lucky to be getting the hell out of here more or less in one piece. I've still got thirty three and a wake up. Hope I'm as lucky as you were.

      Lucky my ass, I replied. If I was lucky, I would have had a Corporal that would have kept me from getting shot in the first place. Looking him square in the eye, I grinned. You saved my life back there that night. Listen to me short timer. Let the other guys take the chances. Just get back home. If you screw up and get your ass greased, I'm going to find out where you get buried. Then every Marine Corps birthday, I'll come by and piss on your grave."

      Tim laughed and waved as he turned to go back to the jeep. Yeah, you would do it too. Then he said. Seriously, You are looking at the most careful Marine you've ever seen for the next thirty three days. Just save your money for when I get back. I'll be out of a job. you'll have to buy the beer."

      Can do Marine. Can do. Let me know when you get your orders. I'll meet you at El Toro, and we'll see how many bars we can get thrown out of before winding up in the drunk tank.

      You got it Sarge. Then he jumped into the jeep, fired it up, waved, and sped away in the direction of the compound.

      I picked up my seabag and started walking to the plane. As I took one last look around the Danang airfield, with the mountains to the west, and the ocean to the east, I was trying to make sense of the fact that despite being excited to be going home, I was also experiencing a considerable amount of regret because I was leaving this miserable hell hole.

      2. The Call

      It was one of those days when the rat race was steadily and thoroughly kicking my ass. My 'IN' basket was growing out of control, and my 'OUT' basket held nothing but dust. Everytime I tried to attack the paperwork, the damn phone started ringing.

      Virtually every call had been a complete waste of time, or had just added to my long list of problems. Everybody that walked thru my door brought new problems to stack on top of the old ones I still hadn't addressed.

      Looking for a way to chase away my frustration, I skipped lunch and used the time for a quick workout in the station gym. Then I put on the gloves and went three rounds with Detective Brown from the Vice Squad.

      After the workout and a shower, my attitude was clearly improved. Heading back upstairs I was refreshed and ready for a productive afternoon. It really was after all, just a matter of mind control.

      An hour after returning to my desk, I found myself just as beaten down by stress as I had been in the morning. Looking out into the squad bay, Detectives were hard at work, phones were ringing endlessly, with a long line of victims and suspects alike, waiting to be interviewed. The system was working at or beyond capacity, but we were like the Texans at the Alamo. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, with no chance of winning. I kept looking for William Barret Travis to walk in, pull his sword, and draw a line in the dirt.

      Somewhere out west, real people were spending their days in a pair of waders, exploring trout streams. Why was I here putting up with this insanity? I knew why. Something to do with those bills stacked on my kitchen table that I've been intending to pay.

      **********

      My enlistment had ended a few days after my return from Vietnam. A week after returning home, I joined the police force.

      Twenty years had come and gone. I'd been wounded three times in the line of duty, two of them had been touch and go as to whether or not I'd make it. I had been given a son, and a divorce. Still, with a lot of hard work and sacrifice, I had reached one of my long term goals, the job of commanding the Homocide Division.

      Now, I was beginning to wonder why I had ever wanted this job in the first place. Life as a beat cop was looking pretty attractive from where I was sitting.

      Outside my window, the streets and sidewalks below were filled with people ending their work day and headed home to pursue whatever it was that regular people did in their lives away from work. The clock on the wall reminded me that ten hours had come and gone since I had first sat down at my desk this morning. Based on recent history, I figured to be here another three or four hours.

      Disgusted at my third failed attempt at writing a simple memo to the Midnight Shift Commander, I crumpled it up and fired it like a fast ball at the trash can by the door. I missed.

      I took that as a sign. Enough. It was time to go. Pulling open my left hand desk drawer, I retreived my service revolver. Then I picked up my keys, cigarettes and lighter, and headed for my office door. No sooner had my finger tips touched the door handle, than the phone began ringing.

      Now, there are few things that irritate me more than the sound of a phone ringing. The only thing worse, is the sound of a phone ringing as I'm desperately trying to get the hell out of dodge, in an effort to save my sanity.

      I stood at the door gritting my teeth as I tried to decide whether or not to pick up the phone. You would think that with all my experience, I would have known to just keep going, but then again, the caller might have been Ed McMahan, calling to tell me that I'd won the sweepstakes. If so, I wouldn't have to do this anymore.

      Cussing myself for being an idiot, I walked back to my desk, picked up the phone and answered. Homocide, McDonnell.

      The voice on the other end didn't sound much like Ed McMahan, but there was always the chance that it really was him calling, just suffering from a bad cold.

      Is this Lieutenant Ryan McDonnell?

      I'm a trained officer of the law, and because of my vast experience, I had now determined that this caller was not Ed McMahan.

      Yeah it is, I answered. Now who the hell is this?" I wondered if my irritation was obvious.

      If it was, the caller chose to ignore it.

      "Lieutenant McDonnell, this is Ray Odin. I'm the police chief in Judas Falls, Wyoming. A man was found murdered here today. When we went through his address book, we found your information, including the fact that you were on the force in St. Louis. Largely as a matter of professional

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